


Harem

by Huggle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnkink_meme, Cunnilingus, Dark, F/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual, Riding, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6301180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when our boys fall into the clutches of a vengeful witch with a thirst for revenge and a point to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Imperare

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo.... Rowena does not treat our boys nicely at all in this, I cannot stress that enough before you go any further. And I don't think she treats herself too nicely either in some ways. Kind of surprised I wrote this actually. For an SPN Kink meme prompt.

The moment she first laid eyes on Sam, Rowena knew what she was letting herself in for.

Still there’s that initial moment where she fears she may have taken on more than she can handle, especially when he shoves her roughly down on the bed and stretches out on top of her.

He’s very large. In frame and other…areas.

But she was never one to back down, and so she entices him on – not that he needed any encouragement. The look in his eyes promises she won’t forget this, and of course he won’t either. She isn’t going to wipe this from his memories – half the pleasure in this encounter will be knowing it’ll live with him until the day he dies.

The other half is how sore she’s going to be for days after this and she’s already relishing that ache.

Sam doesn’t disappoint. His foreplay is brief and direct. He breeches her with two fingers, working until she’s positively sopping, and then he brings his hand up and cups her breast. He pinches too roughly at the nipple and she hisses into his mouth when he kisses her at the same time.

It’s not gentle; he takes it and she lets him. It’s a contradiction, all of it – the control he has only because she gives it to him.

When he pushes inside her a moment later, her cry reverberates off the empty stone walls. Really this was not the place she’d imagined for her first encounter with the largest Winchester, but she’ll do better for the rest of what she has planned.

At least there’s a bed, even if it’s little more than a plain metal frame and a lumpy mattress.

Actually, that’s probably more fitting with the roughness, the near feral way he sets about her – it would seem out of place on silk or satin, with nice wallpaper and room service a phone call away.

This is down and dirty and she wouldn’t change any of it.

He grabs her upper thighs, hauls her legs around his waist. That drives him deeper, almost too deep, and the pain is both near unbearable and magnificent in the same instant. She claws at his back, his sides, knowing it’ll egg him on, and gets the desired result.

Sam grabs her wrists and pins them to the bed with one large hand and then fucks into her like he’s trying to split her open. She arches and whines, writhes beneath him. 

He has no secrets from her – there was a time, a version of him that found this sort of thing more than satisfying. The art of knowing what he wanted and taking it, concerns and morality be damned. 

He should really be grateful, because she’s letting him experience that again, but she knows when he thinks back on this that gratitude will not be his primary emotion.

Especially when he finds out what she did to the rest of his family.  
It doesn’t take long with the way he’s pounding into her for her to come. He takes a little longer, until she thinks he’s dragging it out on purpose to punish her and if he is, she lets him. The pull and thrust of each in and out now feels raw but she loves it. She’ll feel this for days but he’ll feel it for longer.

Finally, he comes, and hangs over her, heavy and panting.

“Satis,” she tells him, and as if she’s flipped a switch he becomes compliant, more like the Sam that doesn’t fuck hard enough to hurt.

He steps off the bed, and she lies there, sated and lazy, watching him and the hate slowly come onto his face. Hate for her, and hate for himself.

If he feels that way now, it’ll be nothing once he learns what else she has planned.


	2. Venero

The hardest part was not bringing Dean Winchester to heel. That was ridiculously easy, and she can’t help but feel it should have been more of a challenge. To rein him in, to have him naked and on his knees across the room. Waiting on a word from her to do her bidding.

No, the hardest part was finding a replica of the chair in her son’s throne room. The one she got eventually is as close a match as possible – not exact, but it’ll do. Until she’s sitting in the real thing anyway, and then she’ll do this all over again. 

Unless she’s tired of Dean by then, but she can’t see that happening somehow. She’s heard tales of Dean Winchester’s talents, and even if he proves as uninspiring a lover as her past dalliances, there’s still the pleasure to be had of knowing she’s fucked with and been fucked by both of her son’s pets. 

And speaking of… It’s not the most dignified of positions, but she can’t bring herself to care. As a fair and merciful Queen – which she is, even if at present her kingdom consists of a stolen house and the merry little renegades she’s finally caught within her web – she wants to be accessible to her subjects.

At least for this, so she spreads her legs a little wider where they’re hooked over the arms of the chair, and slides down a little further so her arse is just barely on the seat.

She crooks a finger at Dean, and he starts crawling towards her on his hands and knees. It’s a very good look for him, especially since she can see the desire she’s foisted on him fighting with the other desire. The one to wrap his fingers around her neck and squeeze the life out of her.

She’s never tried breathplay but the thought of doing it to him rather than him doing it to her makes her even more wet inside and he hasn’t touched her yet.

But that’s for another time. He forces himself the last few feet and then stops and looks at her.

She could be crude here – she knows the things men would say if they had a woman naked on her knees in front of them. But there’s no need for that. All Dean requires is a little direction and she’s absurdly pleased that she pegged – if you’ll pardon the expression – the two of them correctly. 

One all spit and barbed wire outside of the bedroom, the other calm and collected. And on the other side of that door – my, weren’t their positions reversed.

“Lambo,” she murmurs, and watches as he does just that.

He keeps his hands on the floor, holding himself steady, and noses between her legs. 

The first shudder of pleasure is almost too intense. But she takes a breath and puts a hand on his head to still him, just for a moment so she can get control of herself. 

When she’s ready, she lets him continue, and that first tentative swipe of his tongue is almost her undoing.

She clenches her fists, tilts her head back with her eyes shut. She daren’t look down and see what he’s doing – it’s almost more than she can take to feel it – because that will bring this to a climax far, far too soon. 

He is going to be worth the wait and the effort, and she is going to wring every ounce of trembling, dirty pleasure out of this that she can. Out of him. 

Still, when he works at her clit with tongue and a little graze of teeth it is very hard to consider duration. Then he starts to tongue fuck her in earnest, and she can do little more pant and moan as he works it inside her.

She can imagine his tongue, his face, coated with her slick as he burrows as deep inside as he can. 

She can imagine his disgust and that, mixed in with the artful use of his mouth, is what finally sends her screaming – literally – into orgasm.

Rowena has to order him back then; she’s too sensitive and he will keep going if she doesn’t call a halt. 

Sure enough, his face is marked, cheeks and lips smeared. She smirks at him, but she’s too breathless to say anything.

Instead, she sends him back to his position with a wave of her hand, because in a little while she’s going to have him do that all over again so there’s really no point in letting him clean himself up.


	3. Stupro

The angel is the one she finds hardest to contain. Troubled as he is, brought down by the damage inflicted on him by family and enemies alike, he is celestial. He is fierce, and she no longer has the moment of shock and pain to take advantage of as she did when she cast the spell to remove the Mark of Cain.

But she has the Book and it’s full of wondrous dark little spells and among its pages she finds one to shackle an angel.

Rowena watches him watch her from the table in the bunker. This is too sweet – even if somehow all three of them escape her, this safe haven they’ve found for themselves will forever be tainted by what she did to the Winchester family angel, on the surface they eat off and sit around and research at.

She’s altered her control over him – his vessel is under her demand, but he can speak and he can feel and she knows she can make him beg.

In pleasure, not pain, because that will a pain in itself.

“Let me go,” he demands, voice low and rough.

It sends a tense jolt of anticipation through her. He’s naked, stretched out and helpless, and all at his own doing – well, technically at hers, since she ordered him to strip and lay himself out for her – and that defiance is still there.

She hopes it still will be once she’s done. Perhaps he failed to kill her son once, but a soldier of Heaven will make a redoubtable bodyguard.

And hopefully, a pleasurable fucktoy in those moments when she’s bored with the Winchester boys.

She slithers out of her dress, and slides easily up onto the table top. He watches her, wary and ready, but she’ll give him no chance to slip his leash. He will have no choice but to take what she’s about to give, and give what she’s about to take.

His skin is cold under her lips. She kisses his jaw first, working her way down to his throat. She bites lightly at the skin there, hears the grumble of protest even though she knows it hasn’t hurt. Still, it marks and she enjoys seeing it on his skin.

Rowena fingers it, wondering if she should have brought his collar. The one that once fitted can’t ever be removed. A permanent, lasting reminder to this angel that he belongs to her. But perhaps next time; for now her mark will be enough.

She moves on, lips tracking their way down his chest. She licks at his skin, follows a trail down to his stomach, works for a while at the toned planes of abdomen and hips. Dips her tongue into his belly button, loves feeling him start to tremble. Locked off from control of his vessel, he can’t prevent it reacting like a human body – he can only feel the results, and she will break him with that.

She stretches out over him, chest to chest, feeling him gradually harden against her body.

“Rowena,” he snarls, but his skin isn’t as cold as it was. “Release us, or I’ll-“

She silences him with a finger pressed against his lips, and then with her own mouth. Even with his body no longer under his command, she can feel the resistance storming within him, all the more potent because he can only give it voice and not action.

She knows enough of him to understand being helpless and vulnerable is something he cannot tolerate. Too much a reminder of what he used to be before he ever encountered the Winchesters, and of the things done to him that have left him too often in weak and pitiable circumstances.

But all his body knows is that she’s pressed against it, and doing things it clearly enjoys – an unconscious reaction which she takes full advantage of. She rubs purposefully against him as she transfers her focus to his cock – already erect and eager and she senses the rush of anger and humiliation from him as she takes him in hand.

A few short strokes, and his breathing is coming hard and fast, which is nothing to what happens when she takes him in to her mouth almost root deep.

His body arches beneath her, almost making her gag as it inadvertently drives him deeper into her mouth, but his yell of protest is worth it.

She fondles his balls while she licks him, pulling back enough to toy with his slit and that his body seems to like considerably. So she stays with it for a while, tasting the salty pre-cum that leaks onto her tongue.

“Stop,” he says, but it is not an order any more. It’s a plea, and she feels the pleasure at hearing it burn white hot through every inch of her.

She moves to sit astride him, and lowers herself carefully down, gasping at the initial stretch. He’s not as well endowed as Sam, but there’s a pleasurable contrast between the two of them.

As she starts to ride him, his protests become more heartfelt, and when she forces him to sit up so she can hold him against her he actually begs.

It’s a thing of delight to hear that, to know she has reduced the fierce guardian of the Winchesters, the angel who helped Sam keep her prisoner, to this. Her tenderness to him is torture in and of itself, and she runs gentle fingers through his hair, and laps away the tears that well up and fall from those pretty blue eyes.

Once they’re done, she bids him lie back and recover, gives him back enough control that he can move within the limits of the table but nowhere else. She expects him to turn away from her, but he doesn’t. Of course, Castiel would never show her his back, not willingingly.

But he is still her prisoner, so she leaves him where he lies to dress herself again, and then she goes over to where she’s left the small cage.

Olivette is sitting quietly watching as Rowena crouches down to meet her eye to eye.

The cow has had the pleasure of watching all of her encounters thus far, and Rowena hopes it’s made their positions clear.

“The Boyking,” Rowena says, tapping one finger at a time against the cage. “The Righteous Man. The Shield of God. And you threw me to the wolves, made me take to my heels with only the clothes on my back.”

She straightens up, almost wishing she hadn’t changed Olivette’s form. Her face, right now, would be quite the picture. But she’ll have to make do and she’s sure her point has been made.

Soon she’ll take the throne in Hell, and all of them will be there to watch her do it, and that will make her victory sweeter still.


End file.
